Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. No man knew whence she had come nor why. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection.
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